Otherwise Known as Fate
by Your Local Witch
Summary: This story was called 'Extracurricular Activities,' but I overhauled and reposted it! PercyOliver's seventh year. Oliver is forced to take another class, to his extreme displeasure. Along the way, he begins to understand someone he never had before, and t
1. Curses and Lenient Broomstick Owners

**Otherwise Known as Fate**

Chapter One- Curses and Rather Lenient Broomstick Owners

_Dear Mr. and Mrs.Wood- It has come to our attention that young Oliver is not currently participating in any of the higher learning or elective classes, with the exception of Care of Magical Creatures, that Hogwarts has to offer. While we feel that your son is not academically lacking, rather, quite the opposite, we feel that taking another class would be in his best interest. Enclosed is a list of classes that Oliver is eligible to enroll for._

_Have a pleasant holiday,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

"Why, mum?" Oliver Wood groaned as he leaned against the kitchen counter, sounding as if he was in great agony. He loosely held his extra thick Hogwarts envelope in one hand, its roughly opened edges tickling his palm. His eyes followed his busy mother, bustling about the kitchen, not looking at him as she answered. Her dusty brown hair was swept into a bun, green mediwetch uniform sleeves rolled up as she popped some leftover sausages into the icebox. Olivers father, a sports journalist for a popular Quidditch publication, "U.K. Quidditch Weekly," had already left for his office in Edinburgh.

"I already told you, Oliver, you need to add more academics to your schedule."

"But-"

"No buts, my boy. Come now, finish up with those dishes, I have to get to work!" His mother sounded breathless, yet somehow cheery, packing leftover breakfast objects into tupperware and shoving them into the icebox. Oliver sighed, giving his Hogwarts letter a long look before setting it on the kitchen table and taking some dirty dishes to the sink. He clanked the dishes into the soapy water and leaned his weight against the counter, absently staring out of the window above the sink. The day was beautiful and bright, midmorning sun casting its warm rays over their large, rural backyard that was mostly ringed by a forest, with a peculiar old garden that belonged to no one in particular on one side. His thoughts drifted, hands resting on the edge of the counter as he stared blankly outside. His gaze locked in on a small branch sticking out of a wild, overgrown bush near the edge of the property as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Oliver stared at it, mind totally blank. He often did this now, randomly spacing out and staring at things without a thought in his head.

"Oliver! Come on, back to Earth!" His mother's voice awakened him out of his trance. He slid his hands into the sudsy water and began to scrub the dishes agressively. He and his mother stood side by side at the sink, scrubbing dishes in resolute silence, elbow deep in soap suds. After they had finished cleaning up and Oliver's mother had grabbed her tote bag full of items necessary for work, he pestered her again.

"Mother," he whined uncharacteristically, "You know I'm not interested in any of those stupid classes! Look, there's no way I'm getting into any advanced course, anyway!"

"Ol, you know not to call me mother, it makes me sound older than 'mum' does." She joked, clearly amused at Oliver's attempts to convince her, winking as she passed him (who rolled his eyes). Striding briskly out of the kitchen, she hummed merrily. Oliver glared. How could anyone be so constantly cheery?

Oliver followed her to the living room, moving ahead to lean against the doorframe of the front door to their two-story house. Arms crossed, he watched his mother look around the small, comfortable space to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything. "Alright then, _mum,_ you know that there is no way I'm getting into an advanced course! I can hardly pass my regular ones." It was his mothers turn to roll her eyes.

"Oh, come off it, you're a good student, you just don't like your classes."

"But I _really_ don't want an _advanced_ one."

She walked up to him, smiling brightly, crossing her arms to match his stance. "Well, then, I supppose you'll just have to take a new one!" She said cheerily, pushing past him and opening the door. She stepped outside, Oliver following her. "Bye, Ollie, see you later. If you go out, lock the door!" She kissed him on the cheek and quickly stepped down the doorstep, jogging through the front garden, down the long dirt drive that led to the road where her honking carpool full of other mediwitches waited. The midmorning sun shone over the rural Scottish countyside that surrounded the house, the bright day hardly lifting Oliver's spirits.

"Are you sure I have to?" He called from the doorstep with little hope.

"I'm really rooting for Arithmancy!" She called over her shoulder as she climbed into the back seat of the royal blue car, still smiling brightly. Oliver groaned, his head thumping back against the oak door. His mother smiled more than was humanly possible, he resolved, watching the car speed off. He turned and walked back into the empty house with a sigh, resisting the urge to slam the door in frustration. Well, he thought, at least it's only one class. And I'm _not_ taking arithmancy... Striding through the living room, he snatched a Quidditch magazine off of the coffee table, absently flipping through it as he strode back to the kitchen. He sat down at the table, attempting to read an article on Wimbourne's new chaser, but his thoughts kept wandering back to the death sentence he had received that morning. He threw the magazine onto the table, giving up on it, and closed his eyes. He put his hands over his face, then rubbed his temples, taking a deep breath and letting it out. Hogwarts just wanted him to fail as a professional Quidditch player, didn't they? He picked up the envelope off the table, awkwardly spinning it around in his fingers. He would have opened it to read the extra letter again, but he had already memorized it from reading it over so many times.

Oliver snorted, still fingering the envelope. Curse the day I showed my teachers that I have a brain, he thought. He would have rather gone on as a burly idiot in his professors eyes, too thick to understand anything other than Quidditch and fights, rather than be forced to take another class. He didn't need any more distractions from his passion, which was, undoubtedly, Quidditch. This was his seventh and last year at Hogwarts, and Gryffindor's last chance to win the Cup with Oliver as Captain. He almost sobbed at the memory of how the Cup had been stolen from Gryffindor in the past two years, and strangely, each time Harry Potter having something to do with it. _I mean, if he just had to battle You Know Who every year, couldn't he do it during, I don't know, Christmas break, when there were no matches?_ Oliver thought angrily at this always untimely annual act of heroism. Well, it was no matter, because Harry was truly the best seeker since Charlie Weasley had been on the team. Seeker's talent aside, the team itself had quite some talent. Angelina Johnson was excellent as a chaser, and he had always said the Weasley twins were like a pair of human bludgers themselves. With this team, Gryffindor _had_ to win the cup this year, they _had_ to, and if things didn't get too insane, they would, most definitely. That didn't mean the team was going to practice any less, of course.

Oliver sighed yet again. Well, he had a whole day to do what he pleased, and a bit of time to either choose a class and get it over with or find ways to avoid this situation. That's a tough descision, he thought sarcastically, deciding that he would rather just go do something to clear his mind. He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor, and stood up, stretching. _Well, there's only one thing to do in a situation like this_, he thought. He put on a pair of sneakers and walked to the back door, sliding it open and stepping outside. He breathed in the pleasant warm air, the scent of grass and sunwarmed paddocks. Making his way down the slightly sloping land to the old shed with peeling blue paint, he whistled to himself, attempting to releive this morning's stress, and it was working, at least a bit.

Upon reaching the shed, he reached out to grab the brass padlock, clicking it open without any trouble. His father had placed a charm on it that prevented anyone with less than perfect intentions from opening that shed, which contained he and his son's lifeblood: broomsticks. Oliver opened the door and deeply inhaled the scent of wood and broom polish, which were undoubtedly his favorite scents. He walked to the hanging rack at the back of the broomshed, door swinging open behind him. He admired each broom, from the old, decrepit sticks of matchwood that were probably older than his father to the nicely polished Cleansweeps and his own Nimbus. His family was definitely not rich, even with two working parents, and he was lucky to have that lovely broom. He had gotten it as a Yule gift two years previous from his grandfather, who was also a Quidditch enthusiast. Definitely runs in the family, mused Oliver as he carefully pulled his beloved broom off the rack. He held it before him for a minute, lovingly looking at it with a pride. He had won matches on that. He had come painstakingly close to winning the cup two years in a row on it, too... a pang of regret hit him at the thought. _Well, we'll just have to practice harder this year... come to think of it, I haven't practiced in a while..._ Thoughts of his new class completely abandoned, he quickly picked up an old quaffle crate and carried it under his arm, walked out of the shed, broom clutched in his left hand, and carelessly left the door swinging open. When he got in these type of moods he often forgot to eat, talk, or do anything but think of Quidditch. His gaze was firmly set on the woods. He would do a little practice flying in his favorite clearing and then have a go with the quaffles his dad had charmed to shoot at the goalpoasts without human assistance (his father had found great ways to use his knack for charms). After all, he had a whole day to himself. He stepped into the thick, green forest, mind only set on the rigorous practice to come, completely forgetting that he had left both the front door unlocked and the shed door open. A breeze ruffled the overgrown grass in the yard, bringing a bit of releif to the drooping plants and humans about.

A/N: Like I said, this entire story has been practically overhauled as of January 2, 2005... heh, that feels weird, saying 2005... ahem, yes, anyway, most of the changes were made in the later chapters, but this one was also edited and revised. Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are appreciated.


	2. Observation, Damnation, and Two Aggravat...

A/N: Just to let you know, I'm not planning any big problem or conflict with the unlocked door, that's just an example of how careless Oliver gets when his mind's on Quidditch. Sorry if that was misleading, as this chapter begins directly on the train to Hogwarts. Ok, hope you like it!

**Otherwise Known as Fate**

Chapter Two- Observation, Damnation, and Two Aggravating Redheads

"Oliver, that's great! Now you can annoy Percy for us."

"It's like having our own personal spy..."

"Nay, double agent!"

"Sigh. Our own double agent..."

"Just think of all the blackmailing opportunities!"

"Oh, what fun." Oliver dully deadpanned. Fred and George hardly took notice.

"Oh, come on, Oliver, there'll still be time for Quidditch, if that's what you're worried about."

"Yeah, you'll only be blackmailing and pranking part-time."

"Right. Percy's not that hard to blackmail, when you think about it."

"Yeah, anyone could read him like an open book. Think of how much fun it'll be!"

"I'm sure it will be." Oliver wasn't really listening. He had stopped altogether after a half hour of this nonsense. He wearily leaned his head against the cool glass of the train window, the dark skies blocking out the light, almost obscuring the landscape entirely. He was starting to regret telling the twins, who were now animatedly planning Oliver's first 'mission', about taking an extra class. Well, that part was alright to tell them, but telling them that it was Muggle Studies in particular that he had decided to take (figuring it was the easiest) was a big mistake. As it turns out, their older brother Percy was in the class, and they had been looking for new ways to humiliate and possibly injure him since he had been such a prat about becoming Head Boy. That, they said, was where Oliver came in.

Oh Gods.

Oliver sighed. It could get dangerous, being a friend to Fred and George. One minute you could be having a perfectly normal rant on the lack of academic mercy in the school, and the next you could be a pawn in their happy little game of pranks. Literally, they had a 'game.' Oliver had seen the muggle notebook filled with tallies, names and new prank ideas on many occaisions since first year. Oliver listened to the monotonous grinding of the train pistons, noticing a slight change in the pattern of sounds. He furrowed his brow. The Hogwarts Express seemed to be slowing. The pistons were creaking and groaning at a decreasing pace, shreiking irritatingly against the metal track. It gave the impression that the train was very weary, and ready to take a rest. The twins stopped their endless banter to glance questioningly around the compartment and then at Oliver. He looked back at them and shrugged. He certainly didn't know what was going on. The pistons skidded and thudded, slower all the time, and after a few moments, with a terrible screech, the train came to a shuddering halt. Why's it doing that? Oliver thought. He glanced nervously at the twins but didn't get to see their expressions, for just as he turned the lights flickered and died.

"I don't like this..." Oliver heard one of them mumble.

It was pitch black in the compartment, and the door rattled dangerously. Oliver usually felt calm and safe in the dark, the still blackness wrapping him in a blanket of comfort, but not now. This darkness was unnerving, almost frightening. The twins were actually silent, waiting for something to happen. Oliver sat up straight and placed his hands firmly on the seat, muscles tensed. He felt as if he needed to get up and bolt, to where he didn't know, and it didn't look like he would get anywhere in this darkness. Fear was spreading down the length of the train like a virus, gripping Oliver's stomach in a deadly hold. He could hear shrieks from other compartments, clattering and crashing as well, though the train itself was completely motionless.

The noise increased, a wave of fear rippling down the length of the train again. Oliver felt colder, a bit of nausea hitting his stomach. He ignored it, and wished that it wasn't pitch black. He could only see the slight shine of the glass on the compartment door, but everything else was darkness. He figured that there must be some technical problem. Just as he was fumbling to get up to find the conductor, or any adult, really, the compartment door slammed open with alarming force. Oliver and the twins jumped. A tall, dark figure stood in the doorway, giving an imposing yet fearful vibe. Oliver couldn't see it well, but could feel its body heat, so it had to be alive, at least. Oliver was actually on his feet and ready to... well, do something, take action, when he realized that it was just a student framed in the doorway, not... whatever else he had been expecting. He wasn't exactly sure what he had been expecting.

Percy Weasley peered around the compartment, eyes trying to search every inch meticulously through the gloom. "Are you all alright?" He asked the twins quickly, almost absently, his firm voice ringing through the darkness. He payed no mind to Oliver. Oliver heard Fred snap sarcastically.

"Oh, we're quite fine, but you seem rather peeved."

"Come on, sit down a while and-" George started in a hideously sarcastic voice when he was cut off by another noise.

"Ahh!! Help! Help!" With a shout, or rather, quite a few, another student came thundering into the compartment, pushing past Percy (who stumbled and made a huffy, indignant sort of noise) and hurling himself at the corner seat, which unfortunately held George. All Oliver could see was blackness, all he heard was the shouts, pounding footsteps and some odd noises that vaguely sounded like a sack of potatoes being hurled at another sack of potatoes. No one could see a thing, and it was mass chaos from that point on. Besides the thumpings, bumpings and scrapings, Oliver then heard familiar Weasley voices.

"Oof! Gerrof me, you stupid git!"

"Hey! Watch it! I'm here too!"

"Will you please calm down, everyone, please! Please remain calm. Where _are_ my glasses? Just- oh, that's it! You- you- I could report you for not cooperating, you know!"

Oliver was getting tired of not being able to see anything. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his wand, pulling it out and muttering _lumos_. It filled the area with a small glow, casting golden light over the fearful and somewhat disgruntled faces of the other people in the compartment. Percy, unsheilded eyes squinting against the sudden light, muttered something like 'Why didn't I think of that?' He groped around on the seat for his glasses, which had fallen off when Malfoy ran into him. Oliver furrowed his brow at that statement, but no one was paying attention. Guess he thinks I'm too thick to know an easy spell... Oliver thought to himself. The train was still motionless.

Oliver took stock of the situation. The whole atmosphere seemed grim and frightening. Wedged in the corner was a whimpering blonde boy already in his school robes. Oliver recognized him as the weasel faced git who played Seeker for Slytherin, Lucius Malfoy's brat. To Oliver's slight amusement, he looked like he was on the verge of tears. George had managed to wrestle himself out from underneath the squirming Malfoy and, along with his twin, was now glaring at him with a disgusted expression. Oliver himself was standing in front of the row of seats oppostie from Fred and George. Percy was standing up, glasses now on, looking extremely pale and very peeved, with one hand braced against the compartment door, the other fumbling for his wand in his robes. He found it and whipped it out with a flourish, lighting it off Oliver's, expression still grim. Oliver blinked. He hadn't known that was possible. Percy looked about the compartment, as if to make sure that no one had any missing limbs or anything. "Right," he began importantly, regaining his composure and standing up straight. "I suppose if no one's hurt, I should probably be-"

"Going, right, you should probably be off, making sure your precious Penelope is alright." Fred sneered scornfully.

"I thought blood was thicker than her irresistable blonde hair, Percy." Snapped George in a cruel, mocking way.

Percy's face showed a pang of an emotion that was unusual for him, something that looked like... sadness. Oliver was surprised at that expression, and the melodrama unfolding before him. He had no idea that the twins actually wanted Percy to stay. But maybe they were just ragging on him, trying to take away from their own fear by giving someone else greif. Oliver couldn't tell. Percy's odd expression went away, his face losing all emotion but annoyance. He snapped sharply at them. "Fred, George, I'm in no mood for silly-" Everyone went silent.

Chaos rippled through the train. Fear, dread, and nausea hit Oliver at once like a punch to the stomach. Malfoy shreiked again, somewhere in the background. Oliver was spiraling in waves of anger and fear so intense that it was hard not to start sobbing and screaming at once. He had never felt anything like this dread that clutched his organs at that moment. He found himself standing up and staggering forward for some reason, then being thrown violently off balance and pitching into Percy, who had also seemed to have lost his balance. Somewhere in the distance there was the familiar clatter of Percy's glasses hitting carpeted floor again. They both went tumbling onto Fred and George's side of seats. It was as if the motionless train was a rocking ship lost at sea, rather than a long metal vehicle stranded on perfectly solid, albeit muddy, ground. Oliver writhed, not fully aware of what was going on. It was like a fever, but instead of getting hotter, his body temperature felt considerably lower than before. He was struggling to get away from the horrible mental images that flashed through his brain. His old dog being hit by a car, his grandmother collapsing, having a stroke, his best childhood friend's empty house and crying little sister... thoughts that he hadn't had in years coming back to haunt him. He thrashed about, attempting to escape the hideous images.

Then, as if a strong wind had suddenly blown the thoughts away, it was all over.

The train resumed moving and the lights flickered on, finally shedding light into the pitch black compartment. Oliver's wand, now lying on the floor, had gone out. Fred and George looked as if they were glued to their seats, eyes wide. Malfoy was now wedged in the other corner, mouth agape in shock, lower lip trembling as he whimpered slightly. Oliver relaxed his muscles, but was shuddering uncontrollably. He was glad that the lights were back on. He was sort of regaining his senses, dimly aware of the fact that there was something warm on him. He slowly took stock of his current location. He was laying on the seat, a position he couldn't clearly remember being in, his legs entangled with the warm whatever it was. Percy, his muddled brain registered, was the warm thing. He almost blanched at the realization. Percy was indeed laying on top of him, quite a curious position indeed. Percy's head was reared back, horn rimmed glasses still off, his grey-blue eyes in full view. Oliver found himself seized in their lovely strangeness. One of Percy's hands rested on Oliver's chest. Everything was still, and no noise was made save everyone's heavy breathing. Oliver's chest rose and fell, Percy's long, delicate fingers still splayed on it. Oliver's stomach gave a weird little leap as he fully became aware of everything around him. He was breathing deeply and still staring at Percy's eyes, realizing just how much of them was pressed together as his gaze wandered to the ivory hand on his chest. It felt... odd. Why did he feel so strangely? Oliver dismissed the confusing thoughts to mull over later, and spoke softly.

"Er, Percy, would you mind... getting off me?"

His eyes flickered up to meet Percy's. They both took action at the same time. Wearing a disgusted expression on his face, Percy roughly shoved himself off Oliver, standing up. Oliver sat up and waveringly went to his original seat, paying no mind to Malfoy, who was sitting in the same row.

He shakily collected himself. The lights were on, okay, great, the partially obscured countryside was moving past, the twins weren't dead, he wasn't dead. Good. Malfoy wasn't dead... well, that was a bit of a disappointment. Percy wasn't hurt, either, he supposed. For some reason, Percy's face was very red. It had been quite pale with fear moments before, but now it seemed to be as red as his hair. He shakily picked up his glasses from the floor, which had probably been knocked askew when Oliver had, er, fallen over on him, and polished them habitually before donning them.

"Er, right, well..." He trailed off, then cleared his throat, straightening up and managing to sound authoritative. "I must go now. I've got to... make sure no one is hurt, and- and what have you." He waved his hand dismissively, looking rather distracted once again, but managed to keep his posture the same. "Stay safe you... three." Percy shot an embarrassed parting glance at Oliver, completely disregarding Malfoy, then quickly turned around. Robes flared out behind him, he hurried out of the compartment, neatly shutting the door behind him.

Everyone was quiet for a few more seconds, until Malfoy burst out laughing. "Oh my God, did you see that?" He uproariously asked no one in particular, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "You looked like you were going to faint!" He pointed at Oliver, who raised an eyebrow. "Aha, and that stupid queer was _all over_ you! You know what, Wood, I think you liked that. You did, didn't you? Oh, this is _priceless_..." He trailed off before bursting into laughter once again, standing up and trying to exit the compartment. Oliver was angry. He felt himself start shaking and he began to rise, prepared to wring Malfoy's beastly neck. But before he could get to Malfoy, Fred and George furrowed their collective brow, and then, exercising some strange abnormal twin magic, threw out their left arms. The compartment door shut and locked with a resounding click. Malfoys laughter halted, as did he. He was frozen stiff, grey eyes wide, quite afraid of the twins' combined wrath. All was still, tension building, and then, without warning, the twins leapt up and each seized one of Malfoy's arms. He wailed pitifully as they bodily lifted him up, the compartment door unlocking with another click and opening very quickly without assistance.

"You should really learn to keep your horrid mouth shut, young Malfoy." Muttered Fred companionably (yet evilly) into the horrified Slytherin's ear before bodily hurling him into the aisle. Malfoy yelled. George slammed the door and turned, smiling, satisfied as he heard the thump of Malfoy hitting either the floor or another door. The twins dusted their hands off and sat back down, still grinning in a dangerous way. "So." Started Fred, acting as if brutally hurling a younger boy out of their compartment was a common task. Oliver stared, open mouthed.

Fred and George were now grinning at him, even wider than before at his clueless look. Oliver then raised his eyebrows questioningly and crossed his arms. "What is it? Come on, what?" He asked testily. He hoped that they were going to explain the full reason that they had just threw Malfoy out. Was it devotion to their friend, devotion to their brother, or both? Oliver shook his head and started rubbing his temples. He felt tired. Like dead weight. After that sudden shock he wasn't ready to take any more mindless teasing.

"Well, it just seems that..."

"We just had the feeling that..."

"What with that strange occurence and all..."

"It gave me the impression that perhaps..."

Oliver lost his patience. "Oh, out with it you nitwits!" He yelled, uncrossing his arms.

Fred and George shared a glance. Fred spoke, Cheshire cat expression back. "Well, my brother and I here may have sensed some... oh, I don't know... sexual tension between you and Mr. Head Boy."

"What with these strange occurences." George added quickly.

"I- I..." Oliver stammered. He crossed his arms again, diverting his gaze to the floor. The twins grinned even wider.

"This is going to be a lovely year, positively lovely."

Oliver wearily gripped his head in his hands.

Damn the twins. Damn Malfoy. Damn Percy. Damn Muggle Studies.


	3. Welcome Back

A/N: I don't own any HP characters, settings, names, etc... boohoo for me. Stuff in Percy's POV soon, I promise!! Enjoy!

**Otherwise Known as Fate**

Chapter 3: Welcome Back

Dementors. Bloody dementors. At Hogwarts.

It was strange, saying this, even thinking this, without a question mark. The worlds foulest creatures, that suck the happiness out of your body, that destroy every glimmer of hope in your being, were guarding the "safest place in the world." Apparently, the school was safe no longer. Without the safety, without the feeiling of security in the place you sleep, eat, and learn, the student body would crumble. And the teachers knew that. Dumbledore knew that.

What could have possibly possessed Albus Dumbledore, supposedly the greatest wizard of the age, to station _Dementors_ around Hogwarts? It was mad, entirely and utterly mad.

Of course, Dumbledore detested the idea, but the Ministry of Magic insisted. All due to an Azkaban break out.

Rumor had it that the escaped convict, Sirius Black, was on the loose, and Hogwarts seemed to be the place that he was likely to hit next. There was a whisper that he was once a student here. A very handsome, popular student, also. Not much more was said.

Oliver was afraid. More afraid than his first day at Hogwarts, more afraid than his first Quidditch game, more afraid than when he had seen his grandmother having a heart attack... he shook his head, dismissing the newly stirred thoughts. Stupid Dementors. He sat at the Gryffindor table, wedged between the Weasley twins and soaked to the bone. Stupid Rain. It had been raining, positively pouring, not to mention the four or five water balloons that had been hurled at him by Peeves, the damn nuisance. Of course, he had a laugh when George had charmed the balloons to chase Peeves around the Entance Hall. That bloody poltergeist pulled the same stupid tricks every year.

Oliver was shivering, and well aware of it. He had played Quidditch matches in wetter, colder situations than this, but apparently his strong immune system was taking a bit of a vacation. Stupid immune system. He was freezing, and he thought his nose might be running, too. The dementors, it seemed, had affected Oliver worse than anyone else he had heard of so far. He thought he might be coming down with something. Not only did he feel weak, like collapsing into a bed, he felt like crying, or screaming. Oliver Wood did _not_ cry. Or scream, unless he was really, really pissed off, and even then he preferred the term 'shout' or 'yell'. Not only did the dementors presence on the train leave Oliver weaker than any of the other students he heard about, there was that embarrassing situation with Percy Weasley. _Oh gods_... he inwardly groaned as the thought came back to him, he clasped his head in his hands, still trying to surpress his shudders. And Malfoy had seen, too... that prat was probably going to pass untrue rumors all around the school about Oliver and Percy. But it had been an accident, Oliver reassured himself, just a stupid awkward thing that could have happened to anyone... with dementors around, at least.

Fred and George were having an animated conversation with their friend, Lee Jordan, who sat across from them. Fred, noticing Oliver's silence, turned to him. He looked concerned, in his perpetually mischevious sort of way, the closest thing to sincere you could get from one of them. "You certainly look the worse for wear." He was never one to mince words. He paused, then leaned in closer. "What exactly happened on the train?"

George decided to pop into the conversation. "I think your nose is running." He pointed out helpfully. Just leave it to the twins to call attention to someones weak points. Oliver released his aching head. He glared at each of the twins in turn, wiping his nose on a napkin. They looked genuinely concerned, and maybe they were, a little, in that perpetually mischevious closest-thing-to-sincere way, but Oliver certainly wasn't going to tell them what was bothering him. When he said nothing, the twins jumped into a whole new conversation, figuring that whatever it was could wait until later.

"So, where's Ron and the gang?" Lee asked the twins. Fred and George shared a glance. Oliver sat up a bit, now interested. He hadn't noticed Harry's absence at the table, too wrapped up in his own disturbing thoughts.

"Well, we heard something happened with Harry on the train..." Fred started.

"Yeah, I think he passed out, or something."

"Why?" Oliver asked before Fred and George could change the subject, as they were apt to do. He knew that his Seeker was prone to doing some weird things, but passing out? He'd have to be pretty weak willed... Oliver then realized that he himself had nearly passed out. He inwardly flushed. Well, maybe not _that_ weak willed... Now he was curious.

Lee leaned forward, speaking softer. "I suppose you've heard about the dementors, you know, guarding the school, right?" Oliver and the twins nodded dumbly, Fred and George looking eager for gossip. "Well," he continued, glancing about to make sure no one heard (Oliver would have rolled his eyes at this action; gossip travelled fast at Hogwarts anyway), "there was some on the train. That's why it stopped, to let the dementors on. Can't see why, really. But anyway, one actually went inside of the compartment that Harry, Ron and Hermione were in. Luckily, the new Defense teacher was in there. He practically saved Harry's life." There was a note of awe in Lee's voice. He sat back, nodding his head.

The twins both exclaimed "Brilliant!" at the same time, for some reason envious of Ron because he had actually seen a dementor up close, or something idiotic along those lines. Oliver opened his mouth to ask Lee if the dementor had gone into any one else's compartment, but was interrupted by sudden applause as the new first years, looking as if their boats had capsized on the customary trek across the lake, trudged into the Hall behind a rather ruffled, yet still imposing, Professor McGonagall.

Oliver sighed, and turned to watch the Sorting boredly.

The hat, sitting placidly on the stool, waited for the chatter to die down. It opened its mouth-brim thing, and taking a deep breath, began to belt out a new song, as he did every year.

_In the ages of the old,_

_When I was but cotton yet to be picked,_

_There were no slavers, lives weren't sold,_

_Spirits weren't stolen, minds weren't knicked._

_Those dangers, as the years went, flew,_

_On wings of darkness,_

_Evils new._

_But four who knew the greater cause,_

_Created a place of learning great,_

_That seemingly possessed no flaws._

_Ravenclaw, with flawless wit, _

_Slytherin, with greed,_

_Hufflepuff, loyal and true,_

_Gryffindor, with his brave deeds,_

_The safety of the place astounded_

_Many who had come to see, _

_This shelter from the outside world,_

_That guarded from evils yet to be._

_Said evils tried to seige the school,_

_And broke their heads on Hogwart's door,_

_And learned their only golden rule:_

_'Don't challenge us, we'll vanquish you!'_

_But now, as this dark age grows strong,_

_Wearily balanced on chaos' edge,_

_A brand new year will now unfold,_

_While Hogwarts keeps it's valiant pledge._

The applause was slow, nervous. Oliver clapped with the rest, but was a bit worried by the new song. A terrible feeling hung in the air. The hat had said what Oliver had sensed: ..._as this dark age grows stong, wearily balanced on chaos' edge... _Chaos. Dark age. And all that about 'evils breaking thier head on Hogwarts' door,' or 'laying seige to the school.' It was unnerving, and it hardly said a thing about the houses! Oliver, who had been quite pleased when his shivers finally stopped, gave one last involuntary shudder.

He looked around at the table, still clapping slowly, trying to see his friends reactions. Fred and George applauded slowly, looking unusually somber, and, for the first time all night, remained silent. That was odd, as they were not ones to be unnerved about anything. He shared a glance with Angelina, who sat next to Lee and across from him. She looked worried, her dark eyes clouded with concern. He felt a tingling on the back of his neck. Someone was looking at him. He turned around, looking towards the Prefect's table and meeting Percy Weasley's stare. He furrowed his brow. They both clapped on, suspiciously trying to read the other's eyes. Oliver really wanted to figure out what that guy's problem was, but was a bit preoccupied with his frightful thoughts. As their gazes locked, it was as if a bridge spanned the space between them, a bridge of concern and fear. Percy was afraid, just as afraid as Oliver was, and somehow, Oliver felt that. His suspicious attitude went away, replaced by... compassion, Oliver guessed, for lack of a more masculine word. He could understand what Percy was feeling- for the first time, he exercised his almost completely unused trait of empathy. They gazed on, not blinking, hardly moving. In this trance that held Oliver, he felt the fear. The sense of foreboding that clouded Percy's head and his own at the hat's troublesome words.

Oliver was, actually, rather frightened. He didn't know what was happening, or why Percy's eyes suddenly softened, why he felt almost calm. Then, realizing that the clapping had died down and that they had been staring at each other for almost a full minute, they both hastily turned back to their individual friends and conversations. Oliver was a tad bit unnerved. Hesitantly turning back to the prefect's table, he saw that Percy didn't look quite so stiff and rigid as he had before. He was slightly calmer now. Oliver furrowed his brow. Empathy was a weird feeling. He felt... good, he guessed. A little confused, but good. He turned back to the table and averted his gaze to the stage. The Sorting had begun.

Fred looked at Oliver curiously. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Alicia punching him on the arm. "Shush!" She hissed in mock severity. Fred obeyed, but gave Oliver a strange look before turning to watch the sorting.

"Audobahn, Bruce!" Professor McGonagall called over the chatting students. Oliver slumped over boredly, as if just remembering how boring this whole ordeal was when it wasn't your own sorting. It was going to be a looooong night.

Enough was enough by the time "Zendler, Ambrosia" had been sorted into Hufflepuff, and the Sorting Hat had been taken back to wherever it was for the rest of the year. Screw food, Oliver thought, I just want to get to bed. The minute Dumbledore finished his speech, the twins rounded on Oliver.

"Ol, please tell us what just happened." Said George somewhat discreetly, though it was easy to tell that both of the twins were practically bubbling over with curiosity.

"I have no idea what you could be talking about," Oliver deadpanned, piling mashed potatoes on his plate dully, figuring that he might as well eat a bit. He had a mind to use some proverb thingy about curiosity killing the cat, but figured it would be wasted breath. It was easier just to silently weather the onslaught of begging, and if they were desperate enough, threats.

"Oh, you don't, don't you?" Fred raised an accusing eyebrow.

Oliver was silent, spooning potatoes with a vengence.

"Alright then, I suppose we'll have to go ask the other contestant in your recent stare-off." Said George with a dramatic sigh.

Oliver's spine stiffened. Oh, so they had gone straight from begging to public humiliation. He gritted his teeth, and pretending not to care, answered calmly. "You go do that then." He slammed more potatoes on his plate absently, not realizing that he already had enough to feed two Olivers.

Lee pointed down the table to the twins' right, distracting them for a minute. "Oi, Harry! Ron! Hermione! When did you get back? Where were you, anyways?"

"Long story," Harry muttered, and that, it seemed, was that.

Fred looked incredulously at Oliver's pile of mashed potatoes. "You going to eat all that?" Oliver, realizing that he had nearly filled his entire plate with potatoes, went on serving himself other food.

"Yes. I just _love_ mashed potatoes." Oliver said this so murderously that Fred and George both decided to bother Harry and Ron instead of their Quidditch Captain. Had he noticed the glance they shared before turning from him he would have gotten worried, very worried indeed, but he was too busy staring at his plate to notice.

Oliver picked around at his food, hardly finishing a fourth of the potatoes heaped on his golden plate amd even less of everything else. He ignored the merry chatter around him, paying no attention to the twins or any of his other friends, even when the conversation turned to Quidditch. "Hey, Oliver! Did you see that Appleby at Wasps game on the fifh? Oliver?" Silence. Angelina was downright confused. Oliver should have been screaming that the Wasps were cheating bastards and didn't deserve to live, let alone catch the snitch. But he didn't. He just sat there, picking around at his food, never looking up from the plate. He was deep in thought.

_What _did _happen on the train? I'm still not sure... okay, so, first the twins and I were talking... I told them about Muggle Studies... they were bugging me about it... then... then everything went cold. And dark. Why was it dark? Oh, yeah, the lights went out. And the train was slowing down, it stopped. Malfoy was there, too, at some point. And Percy came in, looking for the twins. Then something happened... _Oliver could hardly remember that part of the train ride, but the next part was clearer to him than he would have liked. He wanted to forget it. _When he opened the door, I thought he was... I don't know what I thought. But then he came in and said... something, then everything was spinning, then I was on the seat, with Percy on top of me. _Oliver could feel his face flushing in embarassment at the thought. He wondered if Percy blushed when he thought of that, too.

Oliver stopped in his mental tracks. _But why would I even wonder... _he tried to rationalize this statement that had just popped out of the blue. He brushed it off. Oh well. Just another thing to think about later. _As a matter of fact_, Oliver thought as he blandly chewed some chicken, _it might pay just to go up to bed now_. He took a quick glance around the table, setting his fork down. His classmates were all still merrily chatting and eating, and in Fred and George's case, both at the same time. He stood up at once, abandoning his food.

"Whurryah gorin, Ol?" Fred managed, mouth full of mince pie. But Oliver didn't answer. He was rooted to the spot. A sudden thought had hit him. Fred swallowed his food and tried again, voice much clearer. "Ol? I said-" All of a sudden, as if coming out of a trance, Oliver bolted to the door, quickly exiting the Great Hall into the empty corridor and dashing up the spiral staircase. A few students gave him odd looks, but soon turned back to their meals. The crazy Quidditch captain was probably just going to go over some plays,.

He walked quickly around a corner in a deserted hall until he reached a small alcove seat built into the wall. He slowly lowered himself onto the seat, sitting with his back hunched and his hands gripping the edge of the seat so hard that his knuckles turned white. He was staring at the floor and taking long, slow breaths. He finally gave a weak cry of submission and leaned his head against the cool stone wall, closing his eyes. Why hadn't he thought of it before? It was so strikingly obvious, too. I mean, when had he ever had a crush on a girl? Never, that's when. His eyes watered in disbeleif. Then, he smiled. And he grinned. And he laughed. Tears of hysterical laughter, disbeleif, and the general foolishness of the situation rolled down Oliver's cheeks. Of _course_ he was gay. That explained a lot. The weird feelings, the tendency to distance himself from the overly flirtatious girls... it all added up.

Oliver tenatively let himself think on it, but didn't want to fully immerse himself in the lovely world that was homosexuality. He had become quite good at mental restriction of late, so that wasn't much of a problem. He just had to be sure... but there really wasn't much to be sure of. It all came down to, if and when he fell in love, whether that person was male or female. But what about everything leading up to that? Who did he date beforehand? He supposed that it was whoever he was attracted to... but Oliver wasn't exactly the type who was constantly looking for a mate or date. His head was usually in the clouds, or at least somewhere above ground, going over Quidditch plays and thinking on new tactics.

But this brought about another thought. What about today had made him realize this? He didn't rightfully know. Oh... well, the incident on the train may have had something to do with it. It had seemed to trigger a lot of weird thoughts, besides that. Could he be attracted to Percy, of all people? Oliver looked over to a nearby suit of armor, staring up at it unseeingly, lost in thought. Perhaps it was just Percy that stimulated the revelation, but was Oliver truly attracted to him? _No, no, it doesn't seem likely_, Oliver thought, shaking his head, laughter long since died, his eyes still wet with the tears of unfamiliar feelings. Percy was way too... _Percy_. Too stiff, formal... too rules conscious. Oliver wiped his still watering eyes and tried to give a small scowl, but couldn't stop himself from smiling instead. Well, Oliver Wood _did_ cry, apparently. _Let's just make this a one time thing, though_, he silently asked himself. He closed his eyes once again, letting his entire body droop against the wall. The absurdity and seriousness of this whole situation made him want to laugh again, or cry again, or... sleep. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. He waited a few moments before standing up. Dessert was probably being served, he thought, estimating that he had about a half hour before students started going to bed. He stood up and looked up and down the Hall, checking to make sure his path was clear. It was deserted. He walked slowly down the corridor, hands in pockets, listening to his footsteps echo in the quiet lonliness of the hall, not thinking about anything. He walked all the way around to the south end of the school, nearing some mammoth windows overlooking the lake. As he got closer, he heard a soft noise coming from ahead. He walked cautiously forward, trying to keep silent. He stopped, baffled by the sight before him. He tingled with an odd feeling from head to toe.

Silvery moonlight streaming in beautifully from the windows cast a strange glow over the whole corridor, brightly sillhouetting the figure on the benches before the window. Apparently, the clouds and rain had been blown away. The person was crying quietly, clutching a peice of parchment in his pale, freckled hand as if he would never let go. Oliver observed for another moment, trying to be sure if what he was seeing was real. It couldn't be, but it had to be at the same time. Pale skin looking white and ghostly in the light, red hair aflame with the silver glow. The glint of familiar hornrimmed glasses, the glistening of unfamiliar tears. _It was as if the gods are somehow twisting our lives together_, Oliver thought, being unusually poetic, his next thought being, _Odd, I didn't see him leave. I guess I wasn't paying much attention_. Oliver had gone unnoticed, still standing at a far distance from the slightly shaking figure. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he had better get this over with and clarify a few things before his thoughts were centered on schoolwork and Quidditch. He let his breath out, and strode determinedly towards Percy Weasley.


	4. The Porridge Flew

A/N: As a random thought- I always listen to Queen when I'm typing, so some of these chapters (most of them) are inspired by Queen songs!! Check these guys out! They rock(ed)! Enjoy! (Heheh, the end of 'Body Language' is playing, and the absurd noises that Freddie makes always makes me giggle.)

This chapter is dedicated to those of you in my theatre class who were brave enough to sing the Donny Osmond ending!!

**Otherwise Known as Fate**

Chapter Four- The Porridge Flew

"Percy?" Oliver stepped out of the shadows, voice soft and expression softer.

Percy's head whipped up, impulsively clutching the parchment closer to his chest. His eyes widened in shock, and Oliver realized that his glasses were sitting on the seat next to him, tears flowing freely down his cheek. His eyes were slightly bloodshot. "Wh-who's there?" Percy managed, his voice slightly strained. He squinted at Oliver while scrabbling around with his right hand, finding his glasses and hastily putting them on the bridge of his nose. Oliver walked forward and saw Percy's eyebrows shoot up.

"Percy, are you al-" He tried coming closer, but Percy jumped up suddenly.

"You saw nothing!" He said, sounding fearful and angry and bossy all at once. He started retreating, tripping over his feet. His body still slightly turned to Oliver, eyes narrowed and angry, he stumbled slightly then turned entirely away and practically ran down the corridor, away from the direction Oliver had come without a backward glance.

Oliver stood where he was, confused and sort of angry. _What the hell was _that _all about?_ Oliver thought, completely bewildered. _How come he didn't even tell me what was going on?_ The silver moonlight glinted on the windows, casting light on the spot where Percy had sat. The questions flooded Oliver's mind in an enormous figurative wave. Why had Percy been crying? What was the parchment that he was holding? The only time he had ever seen Percy cry was during second year when some Slytherins had been teasing him about his glasses. Oliver frowned at the memory, not so angry anymore. He wanted to make Percy feel better, to comfort him like a friend would. He looked in the direction that Percy had gone, which was the quickest route to Gryffindor Tower from there. He sighed, and reluctantly left the windows, walking off in the direction he came from, not wanting to meet Percy any more that night, though he knew he would have to as they did share a dormitory.

* * *

_Sunday, August the first, 1994_

_10:00 PM_

_Entry One_

_Percy Weasley_

_I couldn't beleive it. First, the train, then the Great Hall, and now, now he has to find me at the most inoppourtune time possible. Is he trying to do this, just to poke fun at me, or is this some sick little game that the gods are playing with me? I don't understand it. For once, there is something that I don't fully understand. This... Quidditch player, he who has so many great friends, sitting with my brothers on the train, being unusually quiet and more calm than I could have been in the situation. The fools were bothering him enough to send anyone into a tizzy, but he didn't do anything. He looked bored... no, sad. He looked hopeless. That was sort of strange to begin with, as Oliver isn't one to show much emotion other than anger at the loss of a match. Not to mention the fact that we both somehow wound up tangled together on the seat. I mean, the way he was looking at me... I don't know what it is about that look he gave me... it was unusual. It was... soft, expectant, fearful? I'm not certain. The memory makes me cringe in absolute embarrassment. But it had to be the dementors. There is no other explanation. I hardly think that Oliver would look at me with any sort of emotion other than annoyance, perhaps, and I certainly didn't do anything to cause him to, I didn't do anything on purpose, but there must have been some sort of accusation toward me in his mind... _

_But what would he accuse me of? I don't know why I think he would be angry at me, because I really didn't do anything on purpose, he should understand that. But if he doesn't, I just don't know... I don't even know why this matters so much. And then there was the Hall. I don't even know why I was looking at him, really, but when he turned, even more odd things happened. It was as if I was suddenly calm, not feeling the guilt or the self loathing that had been building up for the night. It was... wonderful. Wonderful, but it could have been another ploy to make fun of me, somehow, by exposing my weaknesses to him. But how can I be so sure that it was he who was trying to expose my mind, trying to make me weak, or show the world that I, Percy Weasley, Head Boy and 'the biggest prat of the century' in the words of my brothers, am indeed, a weak, frightened person? I'm not sure that he was (wait, how do I even know that he could tell how I felt?), but at this point, I've no one else to accuse._

_Oh, gods, look at this... I'm arguing with myself! I am slowly but surely losing my mind..._

_It is rather suspicious, of course, that he would find me sobbing (sobbing, yes, crying like a little girl. I am now, in fact, no longer a male creature, I'm sure) over my latest worst nightmare that had to come true, as well. A break-up letter from Penelope. Why, why did she have to give that to me on the train, of all places? If she had sent it over the summer, perhaps I would have had time to absorb the news, to adjust, and eventually just pretend like I never knew Penny, that she was just another face in the crowd, another name to check off on my list of people to be horrificly polite to, if she ever spoke to me again. I'll probably go down to breakfast tomorrow, expecting her to greet me with a kiss on the cheek like always... Things will never, ever be the same. All it took was neat cursive and over-polite, carefully chosen words to cause so much pain... That was obviously why I got so upset at the twins for the remark that they made about her, but I really shouldn't have, they didn't know, though they probably wouldn't have acted any different if they did. Well, perhaps they would have. Fred and George can get grave, even compassionate at times, but you never can tell wether they're sincere or just pulling your chain. It's hard to tell. _

_I was so worried about them, though, I had to find them on the train. With the dementors about, I didn't want anything bad to happen to my siblings. What would I have done if something bad had happened? What would Mother say? Truthfully, Mother's reaction aside, I don't know what I, personally, would have done if they got hurt. Or any of my siblings, for that matter. After the embarrassing incident with Oliver Wood (something that is far too clear in my mind, I'm trying hard to forget it), I went to find Ginny and Ron, but I was stopped halfway by the new professor, Lupin his name, who, though I had never met him, seemed to know that I was looking for my youngest brother and sister and assured me that they were fine. I was tempted to go find them anyway, but, if the professor said so... I didn't know what to do. So much confusion in one evening. I just went back to the Prefect's compartment to relax and try and forget (unsuccessfully) what went on in Fred and George's compartment. I knew perfectly well that Penelope wouldn't be there. After giving me the letter, sitting with other friends was probably the best thing for her to do, as both of us detest awkward situations._

_Then, of course, the feast. It was going all right, I suppose, especially after Oliver made eye contact, but I soon had to be alone. I wanted to think, and possibly even brood a bit, so I left the table, readying the excuse that I was tired and wanted to turn in early. Luckily, I didn't have to use that alibi, for no one questioned my absence. Does that show that I have authority already, or is it just another sign that I'm hated by more people than I give them credit for? I didn't know, and I didn't want to think on that. So I walked up to a corridor that I had always particularly liked, one with monstrous windows that always caught the late sun perfectly, and would now be filled with the gorgeous brilliance of the moon. Yes, even I appreciate natural beauties, though I often neglect to see the beauty in anything at all when I get so caught up with school and Prefect duties and the like. I often feel like there is two of me, the Percy who makes school his life and neglects all those who care for him, and the Percy who will sit a while and think on the more subtle messages that life has been sending me. I like that Percy best. He is patient, not a forced patience that every Prefect has to master, but a real one, a genuine patience that waits until the time is right to do something. He rarely shows himself to others, though he has blown his cover a few times. He is quiet, contemplative, and kind, viewing the world from a different level. I don't mean that I am 'above the world' in any way, I just mean that sometimes I can find the flaws in people and love them anyway, I can pick out the imperfections in the world and still call it perfect (I really don't know where I get these silly ideas, it must be the lack of sleep getting to me). _

_By the time I reached the benches by the window, it was as if the calm that Oliver had 'given' me (I'm still not exactly sure what he did. Natural magic, or simply empathy?) withered, replaced by a bitter anger and terrible feelings. Why did she do it? I thought that she loved me. Perhaps she did love me, but not the love that I wanted. She loved me in her own way, she loved to talk to me, to play with my hair, to kiss me... but I wanted more than just Penelope's witty banter and her soft lips. I wanted to really talk to her, to know her mind, and have her know mine. I wanted to pick up on every emotion that she felt, I wanted to know when something was wrong, I wanted to comfort her and lift her up on a pedestal of love and pride, protect her from the world's cruelty, sheild her from any potentially dangerous situation. And I think I still do. It was when she gave me that rotten, badly timed letter that I realized: that kind of love is not possible. _

_There is no way that anyone would love me in that way, or that I was capable of loving anyone else in that way. I was broken. I am broken. So hopeful before, and now, so downtrodden and weak. I felt sick, emotionally ill, if you will. I cried, I sobbed at the inhumanity of it all, of making a person feel loved and then telling him that he was stifling, overprotective and repressing... some of the same words that I just used to describe my father. Oh, gods, is that what I'm doing? Turning into my father? Maybe I am, but how can I stop the process? So, that was how Wood found me, sobbing like a fool over a stupid peice of parchment. Now that I think on it, if anyone had to find me, the best person to do so was him, because I knew that he wouldn't tell a soul. Or at least I had the hope that he wouldn't. Though Oliver has earned my trust a few times before, this was a time that I had a right to be cautious, and not fully trust him. I hope that he doesn't think any worse of me, or even worse: take pity. Now I know that things will be more awkward between us than ever... oh, Gods, just take my life now, so I don't have to endure this torture any longer, be merciful... Goodnight._

Sitting crosslegged on his bed with a lone candle burning, Percy quickly capped his ink and wiped his quill, placing them carefully on his bedside table, wiping the bitter tears from his eyes that threatened to smudge his ink. He looked down at the newly broken in blank book cradled in his lap, biting his lip in worry. What if the ink wasn't dry? He heard Oliver's footsteps on the stairs to their dormitory, and, deciding to play it safe, flipped on his side and shoved the still open book far underneath his four poster, Penelope's letter concealed in it's pages. Straightening up, cheeks red, he blew out his candle and climbed under the sheets in a rush. He turned on his side so his back faced the door, trying to look as if he was comatose, making his chest expand and contract with deep, even breaths that contradicted his quickly beating heart. The door slowly creaked open, Oliver sliding into the room, which was completely dark except for a bit of moonlight coming in the lone window.

"Percy?" He heard Oliver whisper gently. He didn't answer, thinking about throwing in a few lusty snores for effect, then decided against it. He heard Oliver close the door behind him, but never felt his gaze leave the back of his neck. What was it with those two and sensing each other's stares? He finally felt the gaze break as Oliver undressed and put his pajamas on.

* * *

After putting his pajamas on, Oliver looked suspiciously at the smoking candle on Percy's bedside table. Odd... That looked like it had just been blown out. And there was melted wax still running down the side, too. Oliver had the nagging suspiscion that Percy was still awake, but decided that he wouldn't take a chance. Well, maybe a small chance. "If you're still awake, Percy... good night." He muttered before climbing into his own bed. He was ready to fall asleep, knowing that he would wake up tomorrow like every other morning, but there would be one major difference the next: he finally knew who he was. And with this thought, and a smile playing on his lips, Oliver fell into a nice slumber, not waking until he heard his alarm go off the next morning at seven.

The sun was bright that morning, beating in through the window and worming its way into Oliver's closed eyes. His wizarding radio alarm started playing the Wyrd Sisters' newest song, one with a bagpipes solo that he rather liked. Reaching out a hand, eyes still shut tight, Oliver groggily fumbled with the clock until he found the switch to turn the alarm off. That done, he gave a sigh and turned over on his back, stretching his arms over his head, then lengthening his legs until his feet nearly hung off the bed. His eyes flickered open, taking a look around the room. Percy was gone, not a surprise, and his bed was neatly made, everything in perfect order. Even less of a surprise. Oliver swung his legs out of bed, sitting up, reluctant to leave his warm pile of blankets and sheets. He stood, absently humming the Wyrd Sisters song as he walked to his trunk and nudged it open with his foot. He hadn't bothered to unpack yet, even though there was a whole empty wardrobe awaiting his stuff. Percy, he noticed, had.

Oliver pulled out a pair of pants and a navy blue polo shirt to go under his school robes (the teachers were all lenient with dress code for the first few weeks, particularly Flitwick, who probably wouldn't have noticed if Oliver came to class in nothing but his skivvies). He also grabbed a towel and his toothbrush and made his way down the hall to the seventh year boys shared bathroom for a shower, which he was pleased to note he would have all to himself, as Percy usually took his showers at night, or much earlier in the morning. He had never seen the bathroom, and was rather excited about it. A slight way down the stairs, he heard lots of bumps and groggy voices, indicating that Fred, George and Lee were awake.

He opened the door and was startled to see Percy flossing his teeth in front of the long, slightly fogged mirror above the sinks. He reflexively twitched at the sight of Oliver, almost as if trying to shrink. His hair was wet, hanging in ringlets, adorable ringlets, Oliver was embarrassed to hear himself add, just wearing dress code standard khaki pants, his feet and chest bare. Oliver was upset to notice that he was wearing those rotten glasses, too. He had no idea why he liked Percy's eyes so much, other than the fact that they were gorgeous and pale blue-grey, with an air of mystery and sadness about them that drew you in, made you want to hear what he had to say and unearth the true feelings of this person... well, that about summed it up, actually. Oliver smirked at himself in the mirror. Yeah, he was getting pretty poetic nowadays.

As Oliver looked over with a "G'morning," Percy's expression became unreadable, though his cheeks remained flushed. He turned back to the mirror without a word and continued meticulously flossing. Oliver frowned a bit, then walked in and closed the door.

"Sorry." Oliver muttered, though he wasn't sure why. He set his clothes and towel down on the far end of the counter, placing his toothbrush at the sink farthest away from the one Percy was using. The bathroom was large, all done in white tile and marble. Four spacious shower stalls were located around a small corner for privacy, a large, sunk in marble tub was also in that general area. It reminded him of the Prefect's bathroom, though it shouldn't have, because he technically wasn't allowed to see the Prefect's bathroom, but had anyway on a few occasions (that map of Fred and George's was brilliantly useful). The tile floor was cold on his bare feet, sending pleasant chills up his spine. Even during the hot summer months, the castle always had a colder temperature, which could be very useful when it was hot out, particularly after sticky Quidditch practices. He began brushing his teeth, trying really hard not to shoot glances at Percy, but eventually giving up on that and doing so any way. He noted the differences between them, standing as far away from each other as possible in front of the mirror. Percy had thick, curly red hair, which (as noted earlier) was currently wet and hanging in ringlets over his forehead. Oliver's hair was mussed from sleeping, and it was mostly straight, a dusty brown color inherited from his mother. His father, unusually, had blonde hair, though no one would have guessed looking at Oliver.

Oliver reached down to turn on the sink, but the handle wouldn't budge. He took his eyes off Percy's reflection for a moment (he was still busily flossing) and looked at the tap. He tried again, turning it the other way. No water came out. He would have cursed, but seeing as his mouth was full of foamy toothpaste, he couldn't. Percy stopped flossing, turning his head to look at Oliver, who was still trying to force the tap to move. His expression was still unreadable as he tonelessly said, "That one doesn't work. I was going to see the house elf maintenence crew about it, but I have no idea where they are, so I suppose I'll just have to talk to Filch," and turned back to his flossing. Oliver's lips quirked as he noticed that Percy gave a small, ill-concealed grimace at the mention of Filch's name. _Well, at least he's normal in that respect, in hating Filch,_ Oliver thought. He gave up on the broken tap and wordlessly moved over to another sink, only one away from Percy's, glad to see that this one worked.

After spitting and rinsing his toothbrush once, he went back to brushing and staring at Percy's refelction. He wouldn't be so unabashed with his observations, but it was clear that Percy was very involved in his morning rituals. He had gone from carefully flossing to painstakingly putting everything away in it's proper place. Oliver compared himself to Percy once again. Percy was tall, about two inches taller than Oliver, very thin and once considered gangly, though Oliver, again embarrassed to note, thought Percy was rather attractive, in a unique way. His body had almost no fat and little muscle (as Oliver could now clearly see), while Oliver was more muscular, though also quite lean. Percy looked like he could be a great swimmer, Oliver thought, while Oliver himself had the perfect body type and training of a Keeper or Chaser. Their appearances weren't the only different things, though. Oliver watched, amused, as Percy put everything in it's proper place, toothbrush in holder, perfectly straight, floss and toothpaste neatly tucked beside it. He wiped water off of the counter with a small white towel nearby. Oliver supressed a laugh, remembering how many times he had come in to the dormitory in the afternoon to see his bed made, his desk tidied, or something along those lines.

Oliver was really very fond of Percy and his habits, he realized, wishing that he had been a better friend to him before. _He wasn't _too_ Percy, he was just... Percy_, Oliver thought, his own statement confusing him a bit. A pang of regret hit him as he realized that he never made the effort to actually be a friend to Percy. He was appalled that it took him six years to realize it, but better now than never. Percy, once satisfied that evrything was where it should be, turned toward the door, slinging a towel over his shoulder. Hastily rinsing his toothbrush and sloppily flinging it onto the counter, Oliver turned to say something to Percy, to apologize for not being a friend that Percy deserved, but the door shut with a snap and Oliver was alone in the spotless bathroom. Oliver frowned, but thought that he would have the chance to talk to Percy later. Not only did he want to apologize for being such a crappy room mate, Oliver wanted to find out why Percy was acting so strange, though he knew it had something to do with that peice of parchment in the corridor after the feast, and the train, too, of course. Oliver, mood ruined, frowned at the bathroom in his frustration. It seemed harsh now with it's whiteness, too clinical and sterile looking.

After taking his shower and getting dressed, Oliver headed down to breakfast. Just as he was entering the common room, though, he was pounced upon by two identical red heads, with identical maniacal grins and identical capacities for evil. "There you are, Oliver!" Fred exclaimed happily.

"We've been waiting all morning for you!" They chorused, each grabbing one of Oliver's arms and marching him toward the portrait hole. Oliver groaned.

"Please, Fred, George, I'm not in the mood for pranking this morning."

The twins pouted for a moment, then, that comment not stopping them, brightened up again as they marched Oliver out to the corridor. Students were milling about to go to breakfast, chatting with friends as they all walked in the general direction of the Hall. Oliver shook himself free of the twins. "Come on, Ol, you'll love this one!" George prompted, pulling the prank notebook out of his bag, opening it to a certain page and wagging it under Oliver's nose. Oliver saw what looked like a moving diagram of Percy (with large, exaggerated glasses; this made Oliver a little mad for some reason) sitting at a desk. Whenever he reached for his quill, the quill would move a few inches away, as if it was negatively charged to Percy's hand. The twins burst out laughing and Oliver furrowed his brow.

"Isn't it great?" Fred exclaimed. "All we'll need you to do is replace his quill with the charmed one that we-"

"You two are possibly the most insufferable nitwits out there!" Oliver snarled, surprised with himself. The twins stopped, eyebrows raised. Oliver went on. "You just go on and on about how terrible Percy is, but have you even talked to the boy? Why do you have to go playing pranks on him? What did he ever do to you? He's your brother, and-" Oliver stopped. He was feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden. The twins were giving him scrutinizing looks. "And I probably like him better than you do." Oliver continued, quieter, really very surprised at himself. He gave a small cough. The twins still looked at Oliver very curiously, giving him matching 'detective stares.' He awkwardly shifted his weight and crossed his arms. Then they both grinned.

"Oliver, Oliver, Oliver... so it's true, then?" George asked, shaking his head, sounding thoroughly pleased with himself.

"What? What's true?" Oliver asked.

"Oh, don't play dumb, Oliver." Fred looked equally pleased. "We suspected it on the train, then again at the feast, and now you're sticking up for a person that you've hardly spoken to in years." He shook his head at Oliver's stupidity.

Oliver felt guilty again. "I _really_ should have been a better friend to Percy." He admitted. The twins pouted.

"Friend? That's it?"

"Are you sure that you don't want... more?"

Oliver nodded absently.

"_Absolutely_ sure?"

Oliver shrugged. He was hardly listening. Perhaps he would talk to Percy later in the day... He started the trek down to breakfast, still thinking hard, the twins bothering him every step of the way with a new vigor brought on by that shrug of either indifference or indescision.

"That was a shrug! Not a definite answer! Come on, Ol, tell us!"

"Well, we don't exactly know if he flies for that team, if you catch my drift, Fred."

Oliver was now listening to the twins, growing more and more amused as the more serious thoughts left him. The twins energy and playfullness never failed to rub off on him... it often got him in trouble in the process, too. "I do." He stated simply, wondering how the twins would react once they knew that he was serious. Would they still be joking about Percy if they knew that there was actually a possibility of Oliver liking him? Oliver thought of this, but didn't have to wait for a response from the twins.

"Good! Step one: get Oliver to come out of the closet to us, check!"

"What's step two?" Oliver questioned lightly as the entered the Hall, feeling unusually playful and comfortable with the world, his serious thoughts now pretty much gone. (A/N: Can wizards have ADD? I think Oliver might...)

"Step two... erm... step two... George, tell him what step two is!"

"Well, we don't exactly have one, but trust me, we will soon!"

"Good to know." Said Oliver as he took his seat at the Gryffindor table, next to Hermione, who didn't look up, very involved in her Arithmancy book. Fred sat on his other side with George next to him. Katie, Alicia and Angelina were sitting across from Oliver and the twins. Alicia grinned at Oliver, who still felt oddly happy.

"You sure are looking cheery, Cap'n." She noted. Oliver just shrugged, smiling to himself as he poured a glass of milk from the pitcher between him and Alicia. It was certainly starting out strange, this day, Oliver mused. Strange, but pleasant enough. He took a swig of milk, listening to all the chatter around him contentedly. A burst of unintelligent yet highly amused laughter from the other side of the Hall caught his attention. He turned towards the Slytherin table to see many hated faces all gathered around the blonde brat Malfoy. He saw Bole, Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint, to his disgust, all chuckling annoyingly. That much filth in one area, he mused, I wonder why the whole Hall doesn't reek. His good mood was a bit weighted down now (A/N: Again... ADD and mood swings...). Fred and George were all glaring similarly.

"Wonder what they're laughing about." George muttered. Angelina, Alicia and Katie shared a glance. Oliver noticed.

"Do you know something that we don't?" He asked accusingly, turning his back on the Slytherins and staring the girls down with his famous 'Captain glare.'

"Well..." said Angelina.

"Oh, come on, out with it! No use beating around the bush if we're going to find out anyway."

"Um..." Began Alicia. "Probably just about Harry's fainting attack, you know, they just won't drop it." She gave a weak laugh.

"Probably?" Oliver intoned.

"You're holding out on us!" Fred accused.

"Come on, tell the truth!"

Katie, who was quite the gossip, launched into the story without further ado. "Draco Malfoy is spreading rumors about you and Percy Weasley."

"What kind of rumors?" Oliver cautiously asked, serving himself some eggs.

Angelina, who was usually frank, casually jumped in as she reached for another slice of bacon. "The kind that involve you and Percy snogging on the train."

"What?!!" Oliver, Fred and George yelled at once. Oliver's fork hit the ground.

It was silence for a few shocked moments, before the twins launched into their tirade.

"Preposterous! We were there, in the compartment, weren't we?"

"Yeah! Nothing happened, except for that stupid git Malfoy nearly wetting himself. Bet he neglected to mention _that_ little detail."

"Well, you're not alone with the rumor spreading, Ol," Alicia consoled. "Poor Harry's getting bothered by Malfoy, too. I didn't exactly lie when I said that Malfoy was spreading rumors about him, too."

"Yeah, well, his rumors don't involve kissing men," Oliver muttered sullenly, but no one heard. They were all now talking to Harry, Hermione and Ron about Harry's fainting attack. Oliver sighed, turning now to his still empty plate, not feeling very hungry at the moment, until he remembered that he had hardly eaten the previous night. He served himself some scrambled eggs, and bacon (dipped in syrup, it was his favorite). He ate in silence, listening to the chatter and gossip (and indignant outraged shouts at Malfoy's gossiping) around him, hardly paying attention to the morning swoop of owls and the gasps of first years at this everyday spectacle. He didn't get any mail. He only looked up later when he saw timetables being passed down the table. He took his, glancing down at the familiar rows of classes with the addition of one not so familiar one. Well, this wasn't going to be too different, really, just Muggle Studies where a 'study hour' (also known as 'Quidditch practice' to Oliver) should have been.

Nine o'clock, Charms, ten fifteen, Defense Against the Dark Arts, a double with Slytherin, eleven thirty, Muggle Studies (which had so few students that all the houses were together in the same class) then lunch at twelve thirty. Oliver was pleased to see that his afternoon was mostly free, the only class after lunch being Care of Magical Creatures. Good. The harder academics, like Potions and Transfiguration, would wait until tomorrow.

He heard another burst of laughter from the Slytherin table, louder this time. He turned slowly, just daring that brat to say anything more. Luckily, he was only doing a ridiculous impression of Harry fainting. George turned to Fred.

"Whaddaya think, should we do our impression of Malfoy bolting into our compartment and crying in a corner?" He made light of it, but his voice dripped venom.

Fred just glared on, looking as if he was attempting to burn holes in Flint's head with his eyes alone. "Don't look now, but Head Boy's getting himself into some trouble." He muttered. Oliver looked anyway. Percy had walked over to the guffawing Slytherins, indeed looking as Head Boy-ish as he possibly could. Oliver saw the terse, dissaproving line of his mouth move stiffly, obviously telling them to quiet down. The Slytherins just laughed harder, and Oliver could faintly hear Malfoy's next comment from where he sat. "Oh, look, it's one of the queers himself! Your boyfriend too tired to come stick up for you?" The guffawing was now particularly violent. Percy's face got very red. He said one last thing, though the Slytherins paid no mind, and haughtily walked back to the Prefect's table, looking as stiff and dignified as ever. Right then and there, Oliver knew that there would be hell to pay for those bastards.

He could feel his face getting red, and it never did that, his brow furrowing and his teeth clenching. He could feel the violent pumping of his heart push hot blood through his veins. He didn't care if they knocked him, if they called him names and poked fun, but the one thing he could do was protect Percy from the torment. Before Oliver knew what happened, everything seemed to stop. The whole Hall was dim and faded, like the background of an old cartoon, all the sounds melting away. All Oliver could hear was his beating heart, all he could see was that arrogant little ponce's smug face. His thoughts were hardly there, replaced with raw emotion unlike any he had ever felt, just hate, hate hate hate dully throbbing somewhere. And coming out of nowhere was the rush of energy, of anger and bitterness to all who were cruel, the color and sound to the hall came back in a large crescendo, and Malfoy's porridge bowl was overturned on his head, the smug look giving way to momentary shock. Rage spread across his pointed face as he spluttered in outrage. Nearly everyone at the Gryffindor table erupted in laughter, and only then did Oliver fully shake himself out of the daze he was in. He had never done magic that strong, even with a wand.

Malfoy was cursing like a sailor, a rather aristocratic sounding sailor, removing the bowl from his slicked back head and furiously trying to wipe the porridge off. There seemed to be an issue with the combination of porridge and expensive hair gel. His two main cronies were silent and nervous, getting up to follow him when he got up and dashed out of the Hall, careful not to enrage him any further. The twins were in fits, laughing so hard. "The look on his face! I swear, I will kiss whoever did that!" Fred yelled, pounding his fist on the table in mirth. Oliver laughed with them, more at this statement (as he didn't fancy being kissed by a Weasley twin) than the actual occurence. For a moment, he wondered if he had really done anything at all, if it wasn't just Peeves, or someone else. He took an instinctive glance at the staff table, wondering if any (rather, how many, as it was hard to miss) teachers saw. To his horror, Professor McGonagall was staring straight at him with what could only be described as mild interest. _I'm a deadman... _Oliver inwardly groaned. McGonagall leaned over to Dumbledore, muttering something to him but never taking her eyes off Oliver. Dumbledore listened, eyes moving from where Malfoy had been to the laughing Gryffindor table, to straight at Oliver. His mysterious, mischevious looking blue eyes searched Oliver's, and finally his gaze left, and he went back to talking with Professor Sinistra. Oliver's jaw went slack. Just like that? He couldn't beleive it! The man had just witnessed a mysterious happening that had personally humiliated one of his students, stared right at the culprit, then went on with his conversation, as if nothing happened! Oliver was totally bewildered. Thankful, but bewildered. Perhaps this meant that he wouldn't get into any trouble... then again, perhaps not.

There it was, right on cue, the tingling on the back of his neck. Percy again. Oliver slowly turned around, meeting the familiar stare of a redfaced Percy Weasley. Blue eyes looking more sorrowful than ever, behind those glasses, those glasses that had become the bane of Oliver's existence, he communicated wordlessly to Oliver. Neither of them looked away. It was a mutual sort of thing, these long stares, a silent agreement of understanding. Oliver knew just how Percy felt, embarrassed and downtrodden, yet he just couldn't bear to show anyone, couldn't bear to be weak. And Oliver knew that it wasn't just to save face with his peers, more so to prove to _himself_ that he wasn't weak. Oliver didn't know how he did, but he knew. There was also something else in Percy's eyes, something that Oliver wouldn't have expected, but recognized clearly. Gratitude. Was it gratitude toward Oliver? And what for? Did he somehow know that it was Oliver that overturned the porridge bowl, if he did at all? Already, this day had brought on more questions than Oliver would have liked.


	5. The Project Begins

A/N: Yay! Chapter five up, woot me! Okay, so some of it was in chapter four when this was called 'Extracurricular Activites,' but I'm still happy! By the way, for a full explanation as to why I overhauled this damn fic, go to my bio. Enjoy!

**Otherwise Known as Fate**

Chapter Five- The Project Begins

_Monday, August the second, 1994_

_8:30 PM_

_Percy Weasley_

_I hope he understood, when I looked at him. I guess I just wanted him to know how I felt, try to get him to figure out what's going on in my life. I think I trust him more; somehow, at breakfast this morning, my image of Oliver changed. He was no longer the popular, rather handsome Quidditch player that only his team mates could understand (though others loved him anyway), who happened to share my dorm, he was now the boy that had made a subtle, unspoken connection with me, though I might have even been imagining it. Hell, everything's so questionable now, I can hardly tell the difference between 'yes' and 'no' anymore. It doesn't matter, though, not too much, because I'm comfortable with the fact that he will never get close enough to me as a friend to do any harm, and I am quite pleased with that. Good. I have now established that nothing else will change this year. Right. After Penelope, the last thing I need is another change. _

_Muggle Studies hasn't changed much; Professor Shiemke is still as scattered as ever, though he seems to be a little more collected than last year, which was a blessing. Of course, I never really approved of his teaching style to begin with, and even offered to help with his lesson plans, but he absently refused, probably not listening anyway. He's far too disorganized to be a teacher, but then again, I did learn quite a bit in his class, following my own study guidelines as he asked us to do rather than him organizing our agendas. He said it was 'to promote independent learning,' though I think it may have more to do with the fact that he gets easily distracted, is rather lazy, and hardly ever returns grades on time. Ah, well. Another issue to solve on another day. All four houses are in our class, as the number of students who wanted to take it was so few that there really would have only been four or five people to a class, even if we did doubles. There are sixteen students in our class, Oliver Wood being the sixteenth, the new addition. I'll never understand why he suddenly showed up in this unlikely class, but I have a feeling it was against his will. _

_So, first day back, I had hoped for some actual education, but knowing Professor Shiemke, there wouldn't be. I was right. He had us play a game to get aqquainted with one another, pointless, really, since the entire class basically did know one another, with the exception of Wood. So we all sat in a circle and gave our names and two things that we liked that started with the first letter of our first name. Very stupid, as half the time students didn't even like what they said they did, just doing it for the fun of it. It was a waste of time, but I answered with my customary, "My name is Percy, I like puffskeins and purple." That game brought on memories of the first time I met Penelope. I remember how she was so perfect, so polite, so... intimidating. She was intimidatingly perfect, and I had been a fool not to see that she would do this to me eventually. I was charmed by her intelligence, her beauty, her flirtatiousness, though it all was for naught. Two years of my life spent talking with her, studying with her and learning with her, devoting my entire being to her, had been wasted. And I hate it, I wish that I had been smarter, I wish I had known better than letting another person become so close to me. I swear, I'll never do it again. Not with another girl, not with another friend, not with... Oliver, even. Goodnight. _

Percy blew on the ink, trying to get it to dry faster. He didn't want to risk having it open all night again, even under his bed where he was sure no one would find it. It was early yet in the night, and there had, surprisingly, been absolutely no homework that day. Of course, the teachers had given an outline of what they were going to be learning first, so he had spent a few hours studying that. His textbooks had been read long before school started, and he had practically memorized the important passages, but still, he took his time to skim through the more fundamental parts once again. It was only the first day, and he had probably already learned more than any of his classmates. He sort of awkwardly admitted this to himself, wanting to be modest even in his own mind, though his burning need for recognition won over, and he became smug for a little while. He sat up in the dormitory, curled in an armchair with his journal in his lap and his quill and ink jar on the side table. He had to admit that this dormitory was great. It was rather spacious, especially for only two people, and the seventh years got other perks- not only did they have their own bathroom and a comfortable amount of living space, but the dormitory had a nice sized fireplace and a cozy arrangement of chairs and a small sofa in front of it. He sighed, watching the flames crackle gently. He was feeling happier than he usually did after the first day of school. He liked the new teacher, Professor Lupin, he seemed to always be 'in-the-know', so to speak. It was as if he knew all the feelings of the teenagers that he taught, understanding them completely. That was the problem with so many adults, Percy reasoned. _They don't recognize that their logic makes no sense to children. While I and some other young people understand their logic_, he mused silently,_ not many teenagers and children do. Adult logic is nothing to them, just as child logic is nothing to adults. Couldn't there be some medium, a logic that both age groups understood?_ Percy shook his head at his own mind wanderings. It didn't matter. _Adult logic is obviously greater in power, and possibly more reasonable, yet..._ He jumped as the door quickly opened, his glasses nearly falling off.

Oliver leapt in and slammed the door shut behind him, breathing hard. He leaned back against the door, closing his eyes gratefully. He heard whistles and crackling from outside the door, obviously some of Fred and George's wet-start fireworks. Percy's eyebrow arched perfectly, looking confused and amused and somehow dissaproving all at once. Oliver opened one eye, and gave him a mock challenging look that clearly said, 'And you have something to say about this?' Percy quickly looked back down at his blank book, cheeks red for no apparent reason, then, realizing that his inner most thoughts and feelings on that page were right out there in the open, ready for anyone to see, he snapped the book shut. He looked back up at Oliver, who pushed himself off the door. "Those brothers of yours, Percy, I swear..." He gave a little chuckle. Percy, taking the statement the wrong way, expected to be complained to about the twins. He started silently staring at the book binding. He didn't want to hear any more complaints about the shortcomings of his family, ever. He heard enough of it at home and from other Prefects, but he particularly didn't want to hear them from Oliver, who was, at the moment, a very embarrassing person to talk to, since the odd happenings of late. If only he had the choice.

* * *

Percy's book didn't seem very interesting, at least, not the binding of it that he had been staring at for the past half hour. Ever since Oliver had come in the door, making a few lighthearted comments about Fred and George being like two Cheshire Cats hyped up on sugar, Percy had remained silent. The twins looked for any excuse to celebrate, he knew, and also looked for any excuse to prank anyone, including Oliver. Their enthusiasm for celebration/pranking was what caused Oliver to bolt down the hall, closely pursued by some fireworks. As fun as it may sound, he decided that he'd turn in for the night, not really surprised to see that Percy was already in his pajamas, hair wet from a shower. Oliver had been sittng at his own desk, idling around ever since the humor of his initial statements had worn off, even to him. Percy hadn't seemed to find them funny to begin with. It was silence in the air so thick that you could cut it with a knife, and Oliver was beginning to get just a tad bit more uncomfortable than before. He needed to be doing something, something other than watch Percy bite his lip and stare at his book, though that was entertaining in itself for a while. I wonder why I'm not getting bored stiff... I really should be doing something else by now, Oliver thought. He had been doing nothing but watch Percy, the whole room engulfed in awkward silence.

Throughout his Percy watching, he had thought about quite a number of things, including the incident in the corridor after the feast, how he would talk to Percy about that, how he had deliberately avoided Penelope in class, how lovely his hair looked by the light in the room... that odd feeling again. His stomach felt strange. Dismissing it, he let his mind wander more. He had also noticed things about Percy in the dimly lit room. How concentrated he looked, even when he wasn't really doing anything of importance. Well, maybe, Oliver thought, Maybe whatever he's doing is important to him. He noticed how Percy's lips would curl into a half-smile at a sudden thought, or how he furrowed his brow when he was concentrating hard, or how his eyes searched the book's cover in vain, seeming to look for the answer to an unspoken question. Oliver was fascinated, somehow. He wasn't sure why, until he found himself staring longingly at Percy's lips. _Could I be attracted Percy?_ Oliver thought, a fluttering in his stomach indicating... well, maybe.

He searched himself for the answers, and making his Percy watching a bit more interesting would help the process along considerably. _Man, am I a moron sometimes_, Oliver found himself thinking, feeling a little stupid and guilty as he shifted in his seat. He looked closely at Percy's lips, trying to imagine how they would feel on his. He closed his eyes. After a moment he reached a descision: Not bad. It would't be bad. Percy looked up from his book. Oliver immediately snapped out of it. Percy's cheeks were still red. "Well, um, best be going to bed. I will be, at least. Just, um, don't make too much noise if you're up, alright?" Percy muttered. He walked to his four poster and didn't seem to know what to do with the book, which was still clutched tightly in his hands.

"I'm turning in too, I think." Oliver said calmly, standing up and walking over to his trunk, brushing by Percy as he did so. His breath caught for a moment as his shoulder lightly met Percy's, and he stopped for a second before quickly moving on towards the foot of his bed. Percy seemed to be frozen, too, for a minute, before quickly pulling back his blanket and sheets, making absolutely sure that everything was lined up perfectly. The book was still in his hand. Oliver still hadn't unpacked yet. He mentally smacked himself. _I could have been unpacking instead of making descions that won't ever matter,_ he realized, then decided not to lose any sleep over it. No big deal. A fair exchange, really, fantasizing about Percy, albeit guiltily, over transporting his clothes to another form of containment. Percy turned off all of the lamps in the room, leaving the candle by his bed lit until he was fully ready for sleep. Oliver pulled off his shirt, then bent down to grab his pajamas out of his trunk. He wad surprised to feel Percy's lingering gaze from behind him. Hm. Odd.

* * *

_It was strange. I didn't even realize that I was staring at him until... well, until I realized that I was looking straight at, without flinching, a nearly naked, male schoolmate. Am I that comfortable with Oliver? No, I was completely on edge, actually. I had never really been comfortable changing in front of anyone, even my brothers, or watching others change. I find it... embarrassing. That explains the nervous, uncomfortable jolts in my stomach, but not why I didn't look away. It was oddly pleasing, watching him peel off his shirt, back muscles rippling as he bent over to grab some article of clothing from his trunk. And not to mention... wait just one second... Oh my god, I was just checking out my room mates arse! My male room mate! Oh, this is not helping things... what in the name of Merlin is going on with me? I'm not, I can't... this is so... frightening. It's just too much._

* * *

Oliver turned around suspiciously. Percy seemed to be busy with his blankets. A blush crept obviously down the back of his neck. Oliver grinned despite himself, but quickly stifled it, still grinning inside. This was going to be a very interesting year for him. He turned back to his bed and changed into his plaid pajama pants more slowly than he usually would, deciding to test the waters and forgo the pajama shirt altogether. All naughty thoughts shoved aside for a moment, Oliver decided that this would be a good time to ask Percy about the corridor after the feast. "Percy?" He said slowly, still not turning around.

"What?" The answer was slightly impatient, rather strained.

"Could you... well, would it be intruding if..." Oliver turned around, searching for the correct words. He leaned against his bedpost, looking up at the ceiling in concentration.

Percy grew a tad impatient. He fiddled with the book in his hands, still standing facing his bed. "What?"

Oliver let out a breath through his nose. "Well," he began uncertainly, "Do you remember, after the feast, in the corridor? When you were-"

"I remember. Go ahead. Make fun of me." Percy said tonelessly, facing Oliver defiantly. His eyes were hardened and cold. His knuck;es were white, clutching the book.

"I was going to say when you were sitting by the window."

"Oh." His expression only changed slightly. They stared each other down, Percy looking upset and bitter, Oliver looking uncertain. He shifted his weight and, after a moment of thought, sighed.

"Listen, Percy, I just want you to know that... if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here." He said awkwardly, resolving that Percy would tell him what went on whenever he bloody well felt like it.

"Yeah, well..." Percy trailed off, not able to think of anything biting or sarcastic to say. He frowned. "Thanks." Was the only thing he could manage to say, and softly at that. Very softly. So softly that he wondered if Oliver heard him. Obviously he did, because less than ten seconds later Percy was enveloped in the largest hug he had ever received from someone other than a very overweight aunt of his. The book dropped out of Percy's hand and hit the ground with a weak thump on the carpet. The first thing that hit Percy was the thought;_How come I'm not pulling away?_Oliver's arms were wrapped tightly around his shoulders (he must have been on his tiptoes, Percy thought, and then, for some reason, felt a large pang of gratitude). This was cetainly the oddest hug that Percy had ever received, under the oddest circumstances. A million things ran through his mind at once, most of them confused, a few that were grateful for the fact that he was actually cared about, and maybe one or two that noticed that Oliver wasn't wearing a shirt... and didn't mind. He went with the grateful thoughts and halfheartedly returned the embrace, his arms encircling Oliver's waist (because they really couldn't go anywhere else, Percy tried to tell himself). He was completely surrounded by the scent of Oliver, the scent that was, quite appropriately, earthy and wood-like. He breathed deeply, wondering how Oliver could seem so absolutely grounded, so absolutely stable, that it was hard not to just melt into the comfort of his body. Then he remembered that Oliver was comforting him, though Oliver didn't even know why he needed comforting, and was struck with the sudden idea: _This man, this boy, this... student, has no idea why he's comforting me other than the fact that I need comforting. I didn't think people like this existed, let alone wasted their time with me! He must genuinely care... He's been brave enough to act as I have never seen any student act, to show emotions like fondness and actual sympathy, to show vulnerability... Has he been this way all along?_ Before he knew what was happeneing, he was sobbing into his roommate's shoulder uncontrollably at the outrageous cruelty that people could exhibit, and at Oliver's kindness, pale fingers clutching for Oliver's bare sides.

Oliver hugged him back and let him cry, let his hands settle at his hips, let his head rest on Oliver's bare shoulder. Oliver waited until Percy's sobs subsided to move his arms a bit for a more comfortable position. Percy opened his mouth a few times to say something, but ended up just closing it again, for whatever he could have said was labeled as unimportant. He slowly stepped away from Oliver, removing his hands. He couldn't bring himself to look at Oliver's face. Oliver unwrapped his arms from Percy's back, looking at him absolutely seriously.

"It's going to be okay, alright?" Oliver said softly.

Percy frowned and gave a short nod, turning to his bed. Oliver frowned at this, but didn't say anything.

"You didn't need to do that." Percy said quietly, not turning.

"What do you mean?" Oliver questioned.

Face incredibly red, as if he just realized that he had spent three minutes hugging some shirtless bloke and crying into his shoulder, he turned around and glared at Oliver. "You know what I mean. You don't have to go... playing hero and picking up the peices!" He spat with some anguish.

"Percy, look, I'm not trying to play-"

"I don't care. You did. You did something that I should have been able to do by myself." Percy said, then, realizing he had just given much more away than he should have, he whirled and climbed into bed.

Silence took over the dorm as Percy blew out his candle. Oliver just stood in the darkness, his eyes fixed on where Percy and his four poster had dissapeared into the darkness. After a moment, he spoke.

"Good night, Percy," Oliver said slowly and emotionlessly as he climbed into his own bed. If that's how things had to be, fine. He had offered comfort, he had gotten Percy to come out of his shell at least partway, and he had failed. He resisted giving an annoyed sigh. This wasn't just a matter of human emotions- it was a matter of Oliver's ability to do what he had planned on. That was how he saw it, at least. This, he decided with a strange aggression, would be his latest project. Percy would be his latest project.

A/N: Please review! Feedback is greatly appreciated!


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